stage, so we can see Max. The girls are late, as
usual. They told Porter and me to go ahead without them.
We saunter up to the bar, grab a few brews, and
make our way to the reserved tables. Damn, this place is crawling
with hotties tonight. I tap Morty a bit through my jeans and say to
him, “Tonight’s going to be a good night for you, bro.” I’m giddy
like a school girl. I nod to some of the girls I see. I wink, and
graze my upper teeth with my tongue. I flex without doing it like a
body builder and adjust my arms a bit to get them to notice, not
like they didn’t already.
I mean, really, look at me.
The tables at Jax have banquet seats that are
aligned enough that everyone sitting at them has a great view of
the stage. Porter and I raise our beers, and I make a toast.
“Here’s to good friends, good music, and the ton
of pussy we’re getting tonight. Cheers.” Porter doesn’t return my
sentiment. “What the fuck is up with you man? I’m kind of getting
tired of your Mr. Rogers, quiet as a church mouse attitude.”
He scowls at me, not immediately looking at my
face, and trying to avoid the question.
Then he raises his head, looking right past me
like I didn’t exist.
“Holy shit.” He drags the phrase out, jaw agape,
and eyes widened to the point of bugging out of his head. I crank
my neck to one side, nothing, but then when I move to the other, I
realize what the blank expression on his face truly means.
I repeat after him, “Holy shit!” I emphasize the
holy. And with all good reason, which at the moment has my head
spinning like the rinse cycle of a washing machine.
In walks the girls, but they don’t look like our
girls. They look… well, they look hot! Dressed to kill. All I see
are legs. Some in short skirts, some in dresses, and some in
shorts. Legs.
“My God, are they the same girls we live next
door to?” I say it out loud and I had no intention to.
Willow steps up first. All five feet ten of her,
then Thea steps up after her in a short little skirt. Porter looks
like he’s about to go ape shit. He doesn’t look too happy, but what
I see after Thea walks in, stirs something down below, and makes me
take a long, hard drink of my beer. I blink, several times for
there is a sight to behold. Harlow Hannum looks like she just
stepped out of a fucking magazine. Like the kind I see in the
convenience stores.
Her hair cascading around her shoulders, with
soft, wide curls flowing down to lay across her supple breasts. The
purple color of her sundress is unusual, but compliments her skin
tone. But her legs? It’s her fucking legs that make Morty stand at
attention.
It’s not right, well it is, but it’s not. I’m
guessing it’s my natural male testosterone playing part in my
sudden boner, but for Harlow, it’s got to calm down. A sudden bulge
in my pants is not an option. Also, I’m not dead. I will admit to
thinking a girl is pretty, even if it is Harlow.
Sorry Morty, old boy.
“Hi,” she says placing her hand on my
shoulder.
“Yo. Beer?” I turn to her, not meeting her
eyes.
“Sure.” She replies, and I spin on my heels to
the bar and wait to be served. I reach the bar, and I’m still in
shock as to the way she looks tonight and how my body reacted to
seeing her dressed up that way. I feel a hand on my shoulder, this
time I feel the nails of that hand slowly touch me, from shoulder
to wrist.
“Wow, you have some serious ink. I like it a
lot.”
I glance to see who’s speaking. I come face to
face with some exotic looking chick, maybe Polynesian. Long, dark
hair, bronzed skin, and her lips all pouty and needy. Wonder how
they’d feel around my cock? Maybe later, first I have to get Harlow
her beer.
“You like them now, do you baby?”
She continues to trail her fire engine red nails
up and down my ink, alternating between licking and biting her
lower lip.
“Oh, yea, I like a lot. You have them anywhere
else.”
The bartender hands me my beers. I throw
usual. They told Porter and me to go ahead without them.
We saunter up to the bar, grab a few brews, and
make our way to the reserved tables. Damn, this place is crawling
with hotties tonight. I tap Morty a bit through my jeans and say to
him, “Tonight’s going to be a good night for you, bro.” I’m giddy
like a school girl. I nod to some of the girls I see. I wink, and
graze my upper teeth with my tongue. I flex without doing it like a
body builder and adjust my arms a bit to get them to notice, not
like they didn’t already.
I mean, really, look at me.
The tables at Jax have banquet seats that are
aligned enough that everyone sitting at them has a great view of
the stage. Porter and I raise our beers, and I make a toast.
“Here’s to good friends, good music, and the ton
of pussy we’re getting tonight. Cheers.” Porter doesn’t return my
sentiment. “What the fuck is up with you man? I’m kind of getting
tired of your Mr. Rogers, quiet as a church mouse attitude.”
He scowls at me, not immediately looking at my
face, and trying to avoid the question.
Then he raises his head, looking right past me
like I didn’t exist.
“Holy shit.” He drags the phrase out, jaw agape,
and eyes widened to the point of bugging out of his head. I crank
my neck to one side, nothing, but then when I move to the other, I
realize what the blank expression on his face truly means.
I repeat after him, “Holy shit!” I emphasize the
holy. And with all good reason, which at the moment has my head
spinning like the rinse cycle of a washing machine.
In walks the girls, but they don’t look like our
girls. They look… well, they look hot! Dressed to kill. All I see
are legs. Some in short skirts, some in dresses, and some in
shorts. Legs.
“My God, are they the same girls we live next
door to?” I say it out loud and I had no intention to.
Willow steps up first. All five feet ten of her,
then Thea steps up after her in a short little skirt. Porter looks
like he’s about to go ape shit. He doesn’t look too happy, but what
I see after Thea walks in, stirs something down below, and makes me
take a long, hard drink of my beer. I blink, several times for
there is a sight to behold. Harlow Hannum looks like she just
stepped out of a fucking magazine. Like the kind I see in the
convenience stores.
Her hair cascading around her shoulders, with
soft, wide curls flowing down to lay across her supple breasts. The
purple color of her sundress is unusual, but compliments her skin
tone. But her legs? It’s her fucking legs that make Morty stand at
attention.
It’s not right, well it is, but it’s not. I’m
guessing it’s my natural male testosterone playing part in my
sudden boner, but for Harlow, it’s got to calm down. A sudden bulge
in my pants is not an option. Also, I’m not dead. I will admit to
thinking a girl is pretty, even if it is Harlow.
Sorry Morty, old boy.
“Hi,” she says placing her hand on my
shoulder.
“Yo. Beer?” I turn to her, not meeting her
eyes.
“Sure.” She replies, and I spin on my heels to
the bar and wait to be served. I reach the bar, and I’m still in
shock as to the way she looks tonight and how my body reacted to
seeing her dressed up that way. I feel a hand on my shoulder, this
time I feel the nails of that hand slowly touch me, from shoulder
to wrist.
“Wow, you have some serious ink. I like it a
lot.”
I glance to see who’s speaking. I come face to
face with some exotic looking chick, maybe Polynesian. Long, dark
hair, bronzed skin, and her lips all pouty and needy. Wonder how
they’d feel around my cock? Maybe later, first I have to get Harlow
her beer.
“You like them now, do you baby?”
She continues to trail her fire engine red nails
up and down my ink, alternating between licking and biting her
lower lip.
“Oh, yea, I like a lot. You have them anywhere
else.”
The bartender hands me my beers. I throw
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